Values Dissonance
by Tamer Lorika
Summary: Antonio has married Romano for the political stability during the Italian wars, but he knows Romano isn't old enough to have sex yet. So he'll wait. And when he IS old enough... well, Antonio is going to make it a night to remember. For hetalia kink meme.
1. Chapter 1

**Written for the hetalia kink meme – prompt, Spain waiting to take Romano's virginity until he is old enough: he is not a pedophile!**

**My history teachers all basically refuse to answer any more of my random and persistent questions, and I find a hard time finding credible things that pertain to my interests on the internet. That said, there are definitely culture!language!history!fails involved and I'm really really sorry. Did North Italy even live with Austria during the Italian wars? I don't know… But I tried hard, I did! … T^T**

* * *

"We can't, Lovi. I know that we're married now, but sex is –"

"You bastard, I know what sex is!"

"Eh, Lovi, calm, calm, I didn't mean – "

The rest of the plea was drowned in a furious yell, made slightly adorable with the fact that Romano's voice cracked up half and octave in the middle. Of course, Antonio barely had time to giggle before being punched in the arm. And it _hurt_.

Ah… he should have expected this response. He _had_ expected it, but… who was to blame him for hoping that his little Lovinito would play nice and behave for once?

"Lovi, _querido_," he tried to reason, "you know that I love you, si?"

"I don't know shit, bastard!" And with that, he strode out of the bedchamber. Antonio watched him go, watching the child's bare back with a hunger that he had, unfortunately, muzzled himself.

His wedding night could definitely have gone better.

Antonio had wished to wait. In his heart, he knew Romano was too young. Fourteen may have been a perfectly acceptable age to marry, and really, Romano was much, much older, as old as the fall of Rome. But some things ought to wait. Some things _had_ to wait.

Antonio would not have pushed even marriage but, politically, things were getting tense.

It was Francis, mostly. Ah, Antonio loved the man but he had not learned to keep his hands _off_ of other people's things. Or other people, actually. Consistently, Antonio found the Frenchman scheming and planning to extend his influence over one or the other of the Vargas twins, and even King Ferdinand was beginning to get worried.

"Declare a war," the king had said, all seriousness, once he had noted how jumpy and nervous Antonio had become. "Take what is yours. Keep it."

Antonio had been surprised at the steel in the king's voice, but after thinking about it for a moment, he had to admit that he understood; Queen Isabella had only so recently died. Maybe their marriage had been political, but after so many years of such closeness, the king had developed sincere feelings for her.

"Declare war," the king had repeated. Antonio nodded his head. He would. "And marry the boy," he added. "Politically unite yourselves, at the very least. We need this." He, too, was worried about France.

It had been an order. So Antonio had done it. Romano had scowled throughout the whole service but as soon as he was able he reached up and kissed Antonio with an enthusiasm that shocked him. Pleased him. But… but Romano was never one for such displays; not even after living so closely for so long. So Antonio was also rather perplexed.

It was only that night, when Romano was to sleep in Antonio's room for the first time, ostensibly at least, (if only the castle knew of how many nights a young boy had dashed in, in the wake of a storm, complaining about his bed being too big and hogging all the sheets) that the Spanish nation began to regret his decision.

Antonio had removed his embroidered tunic and long boots, rooting around for suitable clothing to wear to bed. Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched Romano do the same; and his gaze lingered on slowly broadening shoulders, flawless tanned-brown skin, the first vestiges of lean muscle. He felt a distinct greed for the land in front of him, but he also knew that he could wait. He could wait forever.

Could he?

That resolve was tried about one quarter of a second later when Antonio found himself with an armful of half-naked Italian, clumsily and sloppily kissing his face.

"Lovi… mmm…." mumbled Antonio, trying to get a word in edgewise, but Romano had a vise-like grip on the back of his head, as if determined to hang on until Antonio submitted.

He really, really wanted to submit.

But he didn't. Because that would be bad. With great mental difficulty, he pried Romano's fingers out of his hair and pinned his hands in one of Antonio's own. Romano struggled, but finally broke the kiss, glaring at Antonio.

"What was that for, bastardo?" He was breathing heavily and blushing cutely, but he was _cute,_ that was the thing - not sexy or appealing, at least not yet.

"Lovi, we aren't doing this tonight," Antonio asserted firmly, pecking the Italian on the cheek. The younger grimaced and glared as harshly as he could – which was pretty scathingly, Antonio had to admit. He felt his heart pang a little. Now his little Lovi was angry at him! But it was necessary. "We're not going this," he repeated.

"Hell yes we are. We're married now and that's what married couples do. They have sex."

Antonio was rather befuddled. Romano hadn't even willingly submitted to a _hug_ in years.

"Just because we are married doesn't mean anything. You are too young, and that is that. Why do you want to do this so badly?" Actually, with a speech like this, he was feeling rather parental.

"Why the fuck not, shitface?"

"Language, Lovi!"

"Fuck language!" Romano was struggling against Antonio's grip again, but this time Antonio let go, and Romano wriggled right out of his lap. "Don't you want to do it with me?"

"I know we are married, Lovi, but sex is – "

"I know what sex is!"

…. And that was how it had gone. That is what left Antonio sitting alone, half-naked on his marriage bed while Romano was probably stomping the halls of the castle to get to his own room, his old room. Antonio sighed. He should probably go find the boy. He might be crying. The thought made Antonio's chest pang again. He truly loved the little Italian, and one day he would be the best lover to him the world had to offer. But that day was not today. Romano probably didn't even understand himself why he wanted to have sex! And if he did not understand, he might do something he would regret.

And Antonio was going to make sure that, when he _did_ do it with Romano, he would _not_ regret it.

Instead, he grabbed his nightshirt and padded out into the night-dark hall, heading towards Romano's old room. The door was closed, but there were muffled sobs coming from the other side of the oak barrier. Antonio didn't knock, just slipped inside silently.

Romano was curled in the center of the bare mattress. The room had been cleared of most of the boy's possessions, but a few quilts had been placed at the end of the bed to be moved later. One of them was now wrapped tightly around the crying Italian, alone in a too-big bed.

Antonio laid down next to him, enveloping the cocooned Romano in a tight hug. "Lovi, querido…"

Muffled curses echoed from the depths of the quilt padding, and a small struggle followed, but wrapped as he was in fabric, Romano could not put up much of a fight. Antonio held him until he calmed down. He began to whisper to him again.

"I love you, you know. Really, _mi corazon_. One day, I promise, you and I will make love. Comprende?"

There was a long pause. There was no more struggle, no more swearing; Romano had probably fallen asleep. Antonio relaxed against him, attempting to follow his beloved into the land of slumber when a quiet murmur reached his ears.

"It's because I'm not a girl, isn't it? This marriage is all political, right?"

Antonio squawked, sitting up and rolling Romano over so that he could see his face. "No, Lovi! That has nothing to do with it! I love you, really, don't say that I don't!" Sure, he may have looked good in dresses when he was younger, but that was many years ago.

"Shut up, bastard. Stop yelling, I can hear you," mumbled Romano softly, turning his face away. "I get it. Too young."

Antonio kissed his cheek again, slowly, and then, gently gripping Romano's chin, kissed him once, very chastely, on the lips. "Some day, querido. I promise you." Romano snorted a reply, snuggling into his chest, and Antonio maneuvered the blanket around them both. Soon, they were both fast asleep.

In the morning, the chamberlain that was sent to find them was very confused.


	2. Chapter 2

War with France escalated soon after.

Antonio was furious. Why wouldn't France just _back down_ and give up? Antonio was not about to give up Romano to anyone, much less that lecherous, greedy _idiot_. Of course, whenever he complained about this to Gilbert, he only laughed and told him in another hundred years the two would be engaged in passionate make-up sex, like clockwork. Antonio only stuck out his tongue and flounced out because he knew it was true.

But this war was serious, and he could tell it was tearing Romano apart. At night, Antonio was awake with the Italian as he curled into himself on the bed, gritting his teeth and cursing in both Italian and Spanish and even a little French, pain from battles and skirmishes making his body shake. Antonio rubbed his back and sang him old Spanish love songs and promised it would be over soon. It wasn't. But every night Romano would look at him with flooded brown eyes and nod at Antonio's assurances and trust him trust him trust him.

"Don't you dare let that pervert take me away." Romano would whisper into Antonio's neck.

"I won't, _mi tesoro. Lo prometo_."

And Romano would close his eyes and pretend that was enough for him.

What made it worse was that the boy was virtually alone in the castle, for the most part – Antonio was often away on campaigns, and he'd be damned if he brought Romano anywhere near the battlefield. There were a few other lads that seemed to be Romano's physical age but the first few times that he'd tried to play with them, he'd flown into a rage at how bad he was at sports and headbutted one of them in the stomach. The baker had been understandably angry at Romano for injuring his son, despite what role he held in the castle, and the boy himself avoided Romano for months afterwards.

Antonio knew what he had to do. He may not have wanted to do it, but he also knew that Romano needed more than he could provide, now.

"I'm sending you to stay with your brother," Antonio had announced one evening at dinner.

Romano looked up, eyes wild. He was shooting up like a sunflower, now, all long limbs and gawky steps, but his eyes were still held the innocent, grumpy glint of his childhood. And he still had that tongue_; madre de dios_ that tongue! Antonio had certainly not taught him those words. Romano displayed some of his vocabulary right then, to vent his displeasure.

"_Non me ne vado, testa di cazzo_, so you can get that idea right out of your head!"

Antonio winced. "Ah, now wait a minute, I thought you'd be pleased…"

"To see my idiot of a brother? Maybe. But not to see that prissy-bastard and that potato-bastard and his other little potato bastard, I am not."

"I think it would be best for you if you went to visit for a little while," said Antonio firmly, sipping his wine. He just wasn't going to give Romano a chance to argue; having someone his own age to be with while this was happening was probably the best thing for Romano. Being sixteen and alone in a castle seemed just too cruel to put him through any longer. "I'll make the arrangements."

Antonio braced for the inevitable explosion.

It didn't come.

Antonio looked up. Romano was staring at his half-empty plate, biting his lip. Immediately, Antonio was all concern, standing and moving to the other side of the table. "Lovi, are you alright? Is there more fighting? Does it hurt?" Before he could reach Romano's side, however, the boy was up on his feet and running out of the dining hall.

"Of course it hurts! Shut up, idiot Spagna, just shut up! I told you I don't want to go!"

The doors in the dining hall banged closed, and Antonio frowned. Maybe this was just hormones.

This had to be the right decision. It had to be. Because he couldn't bear hurting Romano for something that wasn't right.


	3. Chapter 3

Romano left two weeks later. He stood next to his horse and glared at Antonio and bit his lip and Antonio hugged him tightly and promised that he would be back soon, right? So there was no need to cry. And Romano kicked him in the shin and yelled that he was _not crying_ and then returned the hug with an intensity that was rather painful. And Antonio watched him go with a feeling of loss that was uncomfortable and unfamiliar.

He resigned himself to a long four months – three for Romano to make it to Roderich's house, one for a letter to return to him. Time passed quickly for nations, to be sure, but not that quickly. Spain contented himself with campaigns and battles and the strange feeling of being everywhere and nowhere at once while his armies fought for a nation that was not there.

Letters came, eventually, shorter and more terse than Antonio would have liked but full of pure _Lovino_. They were simply short updates: how he was faring, how much he hated German cooking, a few lines on his brother. No other elaboration.

But each one was signed with a single line, a line that, every time, was scratched out almost to illegibility. But Antonio knew Romano's handwriting well, and somehow could always make it out:

…_Per favore non dimenticarmi, mi amore…_

Please do not forget me, my love.

Time passed too slowly, too quickly, too painfully. It made Antonio's head spin how the span of a few years, which had always seemed so fleeting to the mind of a nation so many centuries old, could creep along with such a viscous tread. How humans could manage, he would never know. He fought, because that is what he did; he killed and destroyed and planted and harvested and fought and fought and fought. At long last, Francis agreed, for a third and final time, to relinquish his quest for land on the Adriatic. Fingers still wet with blood, Antonio himself penned the letter:

_Querido Romano,_

_Te necesito. Please come home to me__**.**_

And resigned himself to wait.

* * *

Storms hit that summer, one after the other, clouds piling up the Iberian peninsula like folded blankets, shrouding the world in a blanket of rain and mud.

Mud.

Hell to wheels and wagons, hell to horses' hooves, hell to poor travelers who were on their way back home. Summer passed, with no sign of Romano.

Fall rolled in, a tomato harvest, some blighted with rot due to summer rains but others thriving on the extra irrigation. No sign of Romano.

All Saint's Day, and now that winter was approaching there would be few travelers at all, trying to cross into Spain. If Romano was out of Andorra, perhaps he would be back in time for Christmas. If not, he would not be able to return until spring or summer.

Antonio's head hurt.

The first week of December, and Antonio stood outside on the parapets of his castle and breathed. Too much indoor work, too many meetings, not enough time out in the cold, biting air.

And then he saw it. A line across the horizon, kicking up cold dust on the undulating road to the castle and they'd be there by evening, they'd be here by evening – it was Romano. Antonio knew without a doubt that Romano was back.

The day was a flurry of activity, a mad dash to make sure the castle was cleaned, a proper dinner was prepared, bathwater warmed – _dios_ Antonio just needed something to do, or else he'd be up on the parapet, watching the train of wagons and horses and men swirl closer and closer as the day wore on.

The sun began to dance lower, rubbing gently against the horizon, and the already-chill air turned frighteningly frozen. The caravan was close, now, weaving through the city around the castle. Torches were lit as the caravan crawled the last stretch of road.

One of the menservants tripped up to the parapet, a heavy cloak in his hands. "Senor," he said softly. "They have arrived."

Antonio ran full-tilt down the steps. The gatekeeper was already winching open the garret as he touched down, and he dashed out under the opening, headlong towards the sea of faces and horses and shouts and whinnies and –

"Gah, you bastard!"

A figure jumped down off of one of the horses and ran towards him, into his arms.

He didn't fit as he had before – he was taller, now; not taller than Antonio, but taller. His shoulders were broader, his voice deeper, his face losing most of its baby fat. But Antonio felt his warmth and smelled his scent and felt the steady stream of curses buried into his neck and realized …

"Lovino… welcome. Welcome home."

Romano kissed him on the mouth.

Antonio's mind went blank.

Lovino was kissing him, and it was definitely not the same as he remembered. Even as the nation left him, their parting kisses the night before seemed chaste, innocent. Antonio never let them be otherwise, of course, but they came from a source who new nothing of desire. But perhaps years of time away had taught him something of it for the kiss now (so improper, so public) had a strange undertone, of want and _need_ that was alien, Antonio realized, because Lovino was now, in terms of his physical looks, eighteen years old. He was an adult. He was an adult and kissed like an adult and when he pulled away, yes, the same grumpy child stared back at him, but this child was buried inside a grumpy, mature man that Antonio hardly knew and yet knew like the pads of his fingers, like the curve of the lines on his palms.

"Yeah, well, I was lonely, bastard," this new man grumbled as he broke away. "And now I'm hungry. You'd better have dried tomatoes because the one fucking thing they don't have in fucking Germany is tomatoes. The assholes."

Antonio laughed, kissed Romano's cheek, and led him inside.


	4. Chapter 4

Dinner passed quickly, nostalgically. Romano complained the whole time, about the roads and the people and the inns, about Germany and his brother and the "prissy-bastard and his fucking crazy maid or something with a frying pan". Antonio smiled and let the room be filled up with sound for the first time in years.

Staring at him from across the table, Antonio felt as if there were something hammering at the inside of his chest. Romano, his Romano, was no longer a child. His manners were better – he ate with a napkin in his lap, for God's sake. He spoke with a kind of insight and awareness, though his language had only been enriched by a few choice German curses that sounded rather excoriating. And his body… all lean muscle and tanned skin. He had finally grown into himself.

And now it was Antonio who was feeling gawky and awkward because he really didn't know how to treat the nation in front of him.

"Oi, oi, Antonio!"

Antonio looked up, plastering a smile back on his face. "Si, querido?"

"I'm tired, idiot, and I'm dirty and the road was all muddy and I haven't had access to a proper tub in forever." Romano was frowning and glaring but there was something different about his expression, something Antonio couldn't quite place

"I ran you a bath! If you want to wash, then you can go to bed, si?"

Romano stared at him oddly from across the table. Antonio smiled back.

"…what? Did I say something wrong?"

"Aren't you going to ask to get in the bath with me, or something equally perverted?"

"Umm…" Actually, he'd wanted to ask, but he didn't want to make Romano angry at him the moment that he got home. He'd been restraining himself throughout dinner – awkward or not, he wanted to hug and kiss and cuddle Romano all night. So he hedged his bets. "Well… can I?"

"Whatever, bastard."

_Madre de dios_, Romano had said yes.

The smile stretched wider across Antonio's face, and he danced around the table, gripping Romano by the wrists. Only a few curses were muttered as he was dragged up to the room where the tub had been set, steaming, dried lavender floating on top. Almost immediately, Romano stripped off his tunic, looking Antonio straight in the eye. Antonio shivered at the intensity of his brown eyes.

"Well? Are you coming, tomato-brain?"

Antonio did not answer, just undressed as well and slipped into the tub, offering Romano a hand in. Romano slapped it away and fumbled into the high-sided basin himself. He slipped halfway in, falling into Antonio's lap. Smiling at the little blessings, Antonio grabbed his waist firmly and pulled him into himself. Romano was stiff, but did not resist. Antonio pressed his nose into the smaller nation's back, smelling lavender from the bath and sweat and dirt from the long, long ride home and Romano, Romano, Romano, right here, right next to his chest, after _so long_. He kissed the warm shoulderblade in front of him. It was soft and smooth and he felt Romano relax, slightly, so he did it again, and again, trailing his lips along his shoulder, to the back of his neck, every bit that he could reach. Romano shivered and relaxed more, sinking into Antonio's arms, his eyes closed.

"Oi, Antonio…" his voice was soft, the malice gone.

"Si?" Antonio grabbed a cloth from the edge of the basin to rub over the nation's back, lips following his every movement. There was silence for a moment, and Antonio moved from Romano's back to his arms, then around to his chest and stomach.

"Antonio." Small, but oddly powerful fingers wrapped around Antonio's wrists, not hard, but firmly. Antonio blinked in surprise as bottle-brown eyes met his and Romano twisted in his grip to face him. There was a fraction of a hesitation, then full, pink lips met Antonio's own, not for long, but long enough. "Antonio, am I old enough?"

Antonio could do nothing else but laugh, a quiet giggle that the tried to muffle in Romano's shoulder, but it ended up bubbling out of him, echoing around the room. Romano growled, growing immediately tense again. He shot out of Antonio's lap and clambered out of the tub. "Fuck, fuck, forget it, I get it. Forget I said anything, you stupid shithead. _Cazzo_, I thought –"

Antonio stood and hopped out of the basin, grabbing Romano around the shoulders and immobilizing his arms. "Ah, you are so…" He wanted to say "cute", and though it was true, that wasn't the word that Antonio was looking for. "Beautiful. Wonderful. Yes, yes you are old enough. It has been too long, too long…" Romano let out a small whine as Antonio kissed his neck. "Do I take it that means you want to make love to me?"

He could _feel_ the blush radiating off Romano's skin as he nodded curtly, silently. Antonio took his wrist and led him from the bath chamber and towards the bed.

* * *

The skin of Romano's chest was bare and warm and softer than his shoulder had been. Antonio ran his hands across the plains and valleys, his tongue following the patterns his fingers traced. He could feel every heave and hitch of Romano's breath as his chest expanded and contracted under him. The nation's eyes were shut tightly, and he was biting his lip. Antonio kissed him, running his tongue along his lips

"No hagas eso," Antonio murmured. "Are you trying to be quiet? I promise, I am the only one who will hear you."

Romano shook his head. "Embarassing…" he mumbled back. "I can- Ahhngh!" A strangled, half-moan left his lips as Antonio's fingers twisted one of his nipples, and his back arched to allow Antonio's hands fuller access.

"Not embarrassing. _Eres guapo_…" It was true. The way that Romano was spread out underneath him – Antonio saw every fleeting emotion that scribbled across his face, the way his mouth parted in a small "o" when Antonio's fingertips ran along his collarbone, the curve of his jaw when he nipped at his pulse point. His hair was half-damp from the bath, his whole body glistening in the light of two candles that had been lit on the bedside.

"Mi amor…" Antonio said reverently as Romano's back arched again, their bare hips brushing. He ran a gentle hand through Romano's hair, resting his palm on his cheek. Romano's desire-clouded eyes opened, catching at Antonio's gaze with a friction that mimicked that of their skin. "My Romano. Are you ready?"

"Che… che cazzo stai dicendo? I've…ah… I've been ready since… you married me," Romano gasped out, fire in his voice, fire in his eyes.

"Then wait, just a moment," Antonio said, kissing Romano's forehead and crawling off of his stomach to rummage in a wooden cabinet near the bed.

"I've waited enough. I'm sure I can take a little more," muttered Romano, panting on the bed. Antonio smiled, pulling a small glass decanter from the closet. Inside, was mineral oil, infused with cinnamon and spices. Unstopping it, he poured a little into his palm, placing the bottle on the bedside table and kneeling back on the bed. Romano's eyes were closed again, and Antonio ran his free hand across his lips.

"Look at me, mi cielo," And to his surprise, Romano did. He looked panicked. He looked needy. Oh _dio_ Antonio wanted him. "Now, relax." Eyes still locked together, Antonio kissed him softly on the lips, using the momentary distraction to push his first slick finger inside of his lover.

Romano made a small whimpering noise into the kiss, eyes widening in surprise. Antonio winced, but forged on, adding another figure. It was difficult already, and his first movements were hesitant and shallow, thrusting a little, twisting and beginning to stretch. Antonio pulled away from the kiss long enough to ask. "Does it hurt?"

Romano shook his head. "N-no. I mean… ah…. A little, but… merda, just keep going." Antonio locked their lips again, going deeper with his preparation, sliding in a third finger. Romano's mouth parted into a deep whine this time, swallowed by the kiss, but he brought one hand up to tangle in Antonio's hair, to keep their lips together, to signal that it was alright to keep going.

Antonio could not believe how warm that Romano was, how slick and loose he was slowly becoming. Romano was beginning to rock his hips shallowly, in time with Antonio's finger-thrusts. It was hard to keep his own excitement at bay, and finally Antonio removed his fingers altogether. Romano gasped, biting Antonio's lip as a sort of retribution.

"Mmm… Romano…Necesito sentirte… I'm going to enter you." Antonio grabbed the bottle of oil again, dumping a generous amount into a palm that was shaking slightly.

Romano still had his fingers in his hair, and was now pressing kisses to Antonio's cheeks and forehead. "Y-yeah, I get it. Just hurry the fuck up."

Antonio lightly slicked his erection, shuddering a little as he touched aching flesh, but he could not get distracted; instead, he positioned himself so his straining tip rested at Romano's entrance, and began to push in.

"Nngh… anh…" Romano let out small sounds of strain as his body was invaded, and he tensed up, but Antonio had expected this, fingers going to the curl on the side of Romano's head and tugging it lightly. Romano cried out again, but inside, his muscles relaxed and Antonio pushed in a little more, until he was fully sheathed. He took a moment for Romano to adjust, letting himself _feel_. It was beautiful. Finally, finally, he was inside the one he had loved for so long. Tonight, they were closer than two peoplenationshumans could ever be and Antonio relished the feeling.

Romano nipped at his wrist impatiently, to which Antonio replied by tugging the curl a little more forcefully, before beginning to move.

The first thrusts were shallow, accompanied by small whimpers of pain that Antonio tried to smooth away with attention to the curl, showers of kisses on Romano's cheeks and chest. And then Romano let out a full-throated cry, one not of pain but pleasure and Antonio could not stop the smirk that graced his lips, angling so that he would hit that spot again and again. He sped up his hips, feeling heady with warmth and tightness and pleasure. He greedily drank every sound that dripped from Romano's mouth, an incoherent puzzle of half-formed curses and Antonio's own name.

"Romano, I'm – ah – I'm the only one… hhhnn… who has ever heard the way you cry out."

"I-Idiot. Y-you're my first and onl-ly." His breath hitched softly at the end of the sentence. "I-I… I love you, Antonio…"

Antonio smiled and kept up the movements of his hips and committed every detail of Romano's flushed face, his slightly-open mouth, slick with shared saliva, all of it to memory.

There was no other warning but a soft whisper before Romano came against Antonio's chest. "Ti amo..."

Antonio sped up, a little harder, a little faster, stopping himself from slamming into Romano completely as he let him ride out his own orgasm, before falling over the edge himself. "Romano!" he called out. Romano gasped at the sensation of being filled, limp and trembling as Antonio pulled out.

Antonio only let his own shaking limbs collapse when he was free of the tangle of Romano's body. He rolled over to the bedside table, grabbing a rag he had placed there before, cleaning up him and his lover as best he could. Romano's face was bright red, radiating heat, his eyes closed in fatigue, in contentment, but he half-unconciously arched into Antonio's cleansing touch.

Finally, knowing he could do little more, he dropped the rag to the side of the bed and pulled Romano into his arms, scooting them both so that they were underneath the blankets. "Are you alright, Lovi?" he asked, lips brushing his hairline, fingers stroking a line from his temple, down his cheek.

"Yeah. That was… affanculo… Antonio, I missed you. When I was gone, I missed you," Embarrassed, Romano hid his face against Antonio's sweat-slicked chest. "I was afraid you'd forgotten me or something stupid and I'm just glad I got to finally do this with you, okay? So shut up."

"I didn't say anything," Antonio said, smiling. "I love you."

"I said shut up!"

Antonio kissed his hair again, and tugged him closer, closing his eyes. As he drifted off into a sated sleep, the last thing he heard was a tiny voice murmuring:

"And I love you too."


End file.
